


There's Snow Place Like Home*

by KillerKueen



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mutual Pining, Rumbelle Secret Santa (Once Upon a Time), Sharing a Bed, Snowed In, oh nooo it's really cold what will they doooo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:09:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28413675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KillerKueen/pseuds/KillerKueen
Summary: Two dumdums get snowed in, and when the heat goes out they have to get creative about staying warm.*the back of the pawnshop
Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold
Comments: 14
Kudos: 69





	There's Snow Place Like Home*

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheGeniusCallsYou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGeniusCallsYou/gifts).



> For the 2020 Secret Santa gift exchange on tumblr. Prompt was mutual pining, snowed in, cold.

The door to Game of Thorns opened, pulling Belle from her current paperback. Any pique she felt vanished instantly when she saw who entered.

“Mr. Gold, hello.” She straightened, tugging at the ends of her sweater. She wished she’d had time to put on lipstick that morning. Or any makeup. She just bought a new thing of mascara, too.

“Miss French,” he greeted. His smile was polite, and short lived; Gold turned his attention to the shelf of vases her father had moved closer to the door last week.

Belle tried not to deflate.

“What can I help you with today?” she asked. He was wearing the dark blue shirt, the one with the subtle paisley. It was her favorite, and not because she had a near-matching dress, the lace just as deep and swirling.

Mr. Gold picked up a square vase, also blue. He turned it over, but to check the price or the construction, she wasn’t sure.

“I was thinking of a bouquet, today,” he said to the glass. “Something red, perhaps.”

Belle appreciated the sharp line of his jaw, and how it cut such a nice silhouette while he spoke. “We have carnations, or amaryllis. Those are always nice.”

He made a sound to indicate he was listening, but didn’t turn to look at her. Belle’s shoulders drooped, just a little.

“We also got a new batch of roses, but I remember you ordered those last time.”

He set the vase down, careful not to jostle the shelf. It was a simple movement, his hand placing the glass on the wood, then letting go. His fingers were long, steady, clearly used to handling delicate things. She wondered if he approached everything with such confidence, such assurance that he knew how to touch, handle, and care for. Was he as good with people as objects?

“The roses will do,” he said.

“Roses, right.” She blinked, torn from her fantasy. Her face felt hot, and she hoped her blush wasn’t obvious.

 _For fuck’s sake, Belle_ , she chided herself.

She reached for the order pad by the register and hoped she could get through the interaction without embarrassing herself further.

She could not.

“They’re my favorite, you know.” She smiled at his still turned face.

“Yes, you’ve mentioned.” His voice was dry, bored.

Belle looked down at the pad. The stubby pencil rubbed against her finger.

“They’re nice flowers,” she couldn’t help but add. When Gold said nothing else, she asked, “Would you like the vase, too?”

“No, thank you.”

He approached the register, and Belle absolutely did not look up. She refused to watch the sway of his hips as he walked with his cane. He was so fluid and elegant. Not that she was watching him now. But she did risk a peak as he approached, catching the glint of his gold-tipped cane, the nice burgundy of his tie. She had a belt that color, or near enough. It would look good with her blue dress.

For a wild moment, she wondered what he’d do if she leaned over the counter and kissed him. Would he stumble back, shocked? Would he—kiss back? Perhaps lace his hands in her hair while hers tugged at his lapels, urging him closer, taking the breath from his lungs—

A sharp trill emanated from Mr. Gold’s pocket.

Belle looked down, quickly, her face hot.

Gold sighed, reaching into his pocket. He made a face at the caller ID. “Add the amount to my account,” he said, hitting a button and silencing his phone. “If you’ll excuse me, Miss French.”

“I’ll bring your bouquet to the shop, then,” she said to his back, as Gold left the store. “You know, when it’s ready.”

The door closed, and she watched through the window as Gold lifted the phone to his ear. He walked away, and Belle noticed it was snowing, the white flurries delicate and large as they fluttered through the air. The sidewalk already had a neat layer.

With an aggrieved sigh, she dropped her head onto her folded arms. Gold was always looking elsewhere, always interested in the thing just over her shoulder. And when he was looking at her, it was always with a bored, if polite, expression, as if she was just a placeholder until the next exciting thing caught his interest.

Belle wondered what she could do. A new dress, perhaps. Or a haircut. Or maybe, when she delivered his bouquet, she could enact her fantasy and grab the pretty bastard by his tailored suit and just—lay one on him. Kiss him until they were both out of breath and gasping.

It would be great up until he reported her for assault.

Belle sighed. She penciled in Gold’s account number on the order pad, wrote _roses, red_. She hadn’t asked how many he wanted, so went with his last order: _one dozen_.

At least she could make his bouquet. She’d pick the best flowers, and tie it all up in a neat bow. And maybe, when she dropped by his shop to deliver it, she’d be able to strike up a conversation. She had asked him about the Tiffany lamp on his counter once. It had been a nice surprise when he’d had a lot to say.

If the day was slow, she could have the roses ready in the afternoon. Seeing him twice in a day—she was going to be spoiled.

* * *

Gold did very well in not slamming the door behind him as he entered the back room of his shop. As aggressive as he was in pulling off his overcoat, it was with a controlled shake that rid it of the snow that clung to it. He spared a thought to the weatherman, who had been threatening a storm all week, but it had yet to materialize.

 _This was supposed to be the day he’d finally do it_ , he thought. Yeah, right. He ran a hand down his tired face. Every trip to the flower shop was predicated on This Was the Day. Every chance he had at seeing Belle French, every time she caught his eye, whether at the diner, or the pharmacy, or when she’d peek between the slats at the bordered up library—he'd feel something rise in his chest, a warmth he couldn’t explain, the desire to throw himself at her feet.

“Let’s go for coffee,” he wanted to ask. “Have dinner with me,” he’d beg, if he had to. “Come to bed,” he’d let himself think, only in the dark shadow of his bedroom, behind his locked door, under his blankets.

This was the day he would have, too, would have prostrated himself there in her father’s shop if only Regina hadn’t interrupted with her phone call. “Please give me any amount of your attention and I will be yours until the stars turn to dust,” was on the tip of his tongue, and it would have made it out of his mouth if only his damn phone had been on silent. Damn the mayor and her contracts.

The thought had no teeth, though. No real _oomph_ behind it.

Gold could barely look at the woman without being blinded, let alone open himself up for rejection and ridicule. And if not ridicule, horror, or even—disgust. It would be the worst kind of shock, he knew, to realize that he, Beast of Storybrooke himself, was interested in sweet Belle French.

Gold sighed, feeling hollow, hopeless. His keys and cell phone clattered as he dropped them on his workbench.

At least he got flowers out of it.

Whether he took them home or kept them by his register, each arrangement was the perfect spot of color, eye catching and lovely. Seeing them kept Belle’s smile close, not that he needed the reminder.

He liked the idea of Belle putting together his bouquet. Of her choosing each bloom with the utmost care, each petal counted and preened especially for him. Perhaps she sealed the bow with a kiss. It was a heady thought.

Ridiculous too, of course. Pure fantasy. It was better than the truth, which was that flowers were chosen from whatever available, wrapped in tissue paper and plastic and tossed his way without another thought beyond how much should be added to his balance.

That made it sound like the French’s did subpar work. Gold fiddled with the space heater knob, turning it up with a thoughtful frown. Regardless of his opinion on the patriarch, the arrangements coming out of Game of Thorns were nothing short of exceptional.

The true reality was each bouquet was professionally done, and handed to him with a smile from Belle herself that could never mean what he wanted it to.

Perhaps one day, if he was very brave and Belle was in a charitable mood, he could ask for more of her time and she’d agree.

* * *

The day passed slowly. The shop was open, but bereft of customers, which suited Gold just fine. The heater at his feet buzzed, his pen scratched across the thick paper as he looked over his accounts. A world his own, there in his backroom.

Gold had just put on the kettle for tea when the bell jingled. Not bothering to hide his annoyed frown, he swept the curtain aside, stepping into the front. It vanished instantly at the site of Belle, backlit and glowing.

The round of her cheeks were as red as the roses she clutched, their heads peeking out from the shiny gold plastic they were wrapped in. Her hair was a shining, glistening halo of curls that spilled down her shoulders. She was effervescent, standing at the door of his shop, unnatural in her beauty.

He blinked with the realization that the world outside his shop was white; completely blanketed in snow. It glowed in the burgeoning light of the street, a white darkness.

“Miss French,” he greeted, shaking himself. Speaking of snow, a fair amount had entered with her. What wasn’t clinging to her clothes had been tracked in on her boots, which looked quite solid and nothing like her regular heels, thank goodness.

“Did you walk here?” he asked with a disapproving frown.

“Sorry, sorry,” she said, stomping her feet and trying in vain to keep the mess to his welcome mat. “Dad had already left with the van on a large order for the hospital, and I didn’t realize how bad it had gotten. The storm picked up quick!” The red in her face, embarrassment or the cold he couldn't be sure, made her eyes shine. They were such a lovely blue.

“But, I’m here now,” she said quickly. “And look, your flowers made it.” To prove it, she marched up to his counter, laying the bundle down for him to confirm.

Said bundle was flat from being held against her chest for the single mile that separated their shops, and the wrapping was encased in snow, quickly melting. The roses themselves looked to be in good enough condition, if a little shaken.

“So they have,” he agreed softly. He tapped the counter, a wisp of an idea forming.

Belle smiled. “I could have waited until tomorrow,” she admitted. “But it was snow today and I thought—I mean slow. It was slow, probably because of the snow.” The red this time was definitely from embarrassment. “Anyway, I thought it’d be nice if you had your flowers to get you through the blizzard.”

She was adorable. Gold hoped his face wasn’t too dopey.

He noticed when she pulled her coat tighter against her, and saw she wasn’t wearing a scarf, didn't have a hat.

Gold kept the front of his shop just a tad too cool to be comfortable in winter in order to encourage the good townsfolk to state their business and get out. Coming inside was not the relief from the storm it could have been.

Ah, yes. There was his idea, turning into a plan. The universe had thrown him a bone.

“You’re not intending to walk back?” he asked carefully. “You barely made it as it is.”

“Oh, well.” She at least had gloves on, but they didn’t look thick enough for Gold’s liking. “I already closed the flower shop. I was going to walk home when I finished here.”

Gold tried to keep the eagerness from showing on his face. The house she rented with her father was twice as far as Game of Thorns, and in the opposite direction. On a nice day, the walk was pleasant. With a blizzard raging? Unthinkable.

He told her as much.

“I guess I could ask Dad to swing by to pick me up,” she said, digging out her phone and tapping on the screen. “You know, whenever he finishes with his delivery.”

“Great idea.” Gold lifted the bouquet, keeping as much as the melted snow on the wrapping as he could; he didn’t want to waste anytime cleaning, not when he finally had Belle all to himself.

“I think the storm will stop soon, anyway,” she said, ever the optimist. “How much longer can it keep up?”

Knowing Maine, easily for the next week. “Come on then.”

“Sorry?”

Gold was halfway through the curtain, roses snug in his arms. They’d perk up when they were submerged in water, rather than swimming in it. “Come warm up. I have the space heater on.”

“In the back?” Her eyes were wide.

Had he overstepped? He couldn’t think how. “I put the kettle on to boil. Should be ready any moment now.”

She took a hesitant step forward eyeing the curtain as if it hid a trap door. “I mean, if it’s okay.”

“I insist. Come have a cup of tea.”

He held the curtain to the side, happy when she stepped ahead of him.

Today was the day, after all.

* * *

The first thing Belle noticed was things. Shelves stuffed full of boxes and baubles, careworn tools and rolls of fabric. The worktable took up a fair amount of space as well, with an aisle just because enough for a slim man with a cane to walk through.

The second thing she noticed was a bed, no larger than a twin, tucked away in the corner. She bit her lip, filing that detail away for much later.

The sound of Gold stacking what looked like his account books caught her attention. He pulled out the chair that was closest to the heater, beckoning her to sit.

“How do you take your tea?” he asked, opening a cupboard and taking out two cups with matching plates.

“Straight, please,” she said, stuffing her gloves in her coat pocket, before peeling it off and draping it over the back of the chair.

Belle tried to look around with her greedy little eyes, but her attention was drawn to Gold, his fluid movement as he did nothing more than carefully scoop tea into a strainer ball. Even him pouring the hot water into the teapot, an elegant porcelain piece with a long sprout and blue feathering, was captivating. The packet of chocolate chip cookies that were spread out on a plate caught her attention too, albeit for a different reason.

“Am I forgetting something?” he asked, noticing her gaze on him.

“No, no,” Belle said, not looking away.

In no time at all, the tea was poured, a cookie nibbled, and Mr. Gold was sitting next to her on a stool he pulled out from under the bench.

The silence wasn’t overbearing, but she still looked around a little desperately, trying to find something interesting to say.

“What were you reading?” Gold asked.

“Reading?”

“This morning, when I placed my order. You were holding a book.”

“I was,” she said, feeling warm. It wasn’t from the tea. “It was _A Christmas Carol._ ”

“A classic,” he said, eyebrows raised.

From there it was easy. Talk of the book moved to talk of the movies, turned to which adaptation was the best one. As it turned out, they both agreed that the Muppets took it, hands down.

Belle rubbed the handle of her teacup, the porcelain warm. She felt lightheaded, if she were honest. The dim light of the back room, paired with the quiet burr of the heater, the quiet burr of Gold’s voice, the full force of his attention, finally, after all this time—it was too much. He was gazing at her with a softness in his eyes she’d never seen before, and it was all much too much. She felt she might float away.

So of course, that was when Belle’s coat chimed. She wanted to groan when Gold cleared his throat, looking away.

Pulling out her cell phone, she saw the message was from her father, asking where she was. Oh. Lovely.

“Dad made it home,” she said with forced lightness.

Gold frowned. “Home?”

“I guess my message didn’t send,” Belle said, knowing full well she hadn’t actually sent one. “Must have, um, the network?” She shrugged, giving up on lying quickly. “But it looks like Dad went straight home after his delivery.”

“I see.”

Her phone pinged with a new message, and her stomach dropped at what it told her. “He says it's really nasty out. Couldn’t get the van all the way up the street, so he legged it the last two blocks.”

That wasn’t the best news. It was, arguably, quite bad. She could feel her plan backfiring in real time.

“It sounds unsafe, to ask him to come,” Gold said.

The only thing she could give him was a tight smile.

It had been a simple thought, if a little impulsive: pretend that she was stranded here at Gold’s shop, in the middle of heavy snow. When it became apparent her father wasn’t coming, she’d ask oh-so-sweetly for a ride home. Gold was a gentleman. He wouldn’t refuse. That she was sitting nice and toasty in his backroom with no prompting from her proved as much.

Her plan wouldn’t only have extended her time with Gold, but also been the perfect opening to ask him out to dinner as a thank you.

“Er,” she said, looking lost. Belle hadn’t considered just how bad the storm was.

“Miss French,” he said, clearing his throat again. He had the look of someone trying to deliver bad news as delicately as they could. “I’d drive you home myself, but if your father’s van can’t make it through this snow, my Cadillac certainly won’t, either.”

“I understand.” She had done this to herself. She accepted that.

“I apologize,” he said, and to his credit sounded like he meant it.

“It’s not your fault,” Belle said, rallying herself. She pushed her chair out, ready to stand up.

“Where are you going?” Gold asked, alarmed.

“Home. Looks like I’m walking after all.” Belle reached for her coat, surprised when Gold’s hand closed over hers. It was dry and warm; she felt a pleasant thrill shoot through her arm.

“Absolutely not.”

“I’m wearing boots.”

“I don’t care if you’re wearing skis strapped to rockets, you’re not going out there.”

Belle blinked at him, but didn’t move, not wanting to sever the contact. “What do you suggest then?”

“Staying here,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“For how long?”

“However long it takes for the storm to clear. Mr. Tillman will be out to plow as soon as it stops. I’ll drive you home when it’s safe.”

Taking advantage of Mr. Gold’s goodwill for a cup of tea was one thing. Forcing his hand to shelter her for hours was something else entirely. But there was a part of her, quite a large part, that wanted to press her advantage. And he was offering.

“Are you sure? I’d hate to put you out,” she hedged.

“Miss French, I insist.” He licked his lips, tugging gently on her hand. “It might not be the most comfortable option, but it’s better than getting lost in a blizzard.”

“I guess you’re right,” Belle said, sitting back down.

“Yes. I am,” he sniffed. “Glad we agree.” From the look on his face Gold hadn’t expected such quick acquiescence, but wasn’t going to complain.

“For the record,” she said, smiling. “I’m quite comfortable.”

Surprised pleasure bloomed across his face. “I’m happy you think so."

“I do. Thank you, Mr. Gold, for letting me stay.”

“Think nothing of it,” he said quickly. “You don’t want to be out there.”

“Really,” Belle agreed. “I mean, how much longer can this last, right?”

It wasn’t the first time either of them alluded to such a thing that night, but it must have been one time too many.

The lights above them flickered for a breath of a moment, then cut out.

Because of course they did.

“Ah,” Belle said into the sudden darkness. She wondered if Gold heard her over his cursing.

“No, don’t move, please, just. Stay there,” Gold said, his chair scraping against the hardwood.

“Wait,” she said, scrambling to turn on the flashlight app on her phone. “Here, so you don’t trip on something.”

In the light, she could see one corner of his mouth lift. “I know my way around the shop, my dear, but thank you.”

He turned, illuminated as he brushed the curtain aside. She heard the tap of his cane as he walked to the front. There was a clock, somewhere to her left, that ticked down the seconds he was gone.

The curtain signaled his return. “The whole of main street is out. Probably most of the town, too.”

Belle made a noise to show she was listening.

“I, um. I think we might be here much longer than a few hours,” he said. Belle hadn’t realized how many whirring, buzzing things there had been in the pawnshop; between the generator, the lights, the space heater, even the mini fridge that Gold had kept the milk. When it all cut out, they weren’t just left in darkness, but complete silence. There was nothing but the sound of their breathing, and the clock.

“Yes,” she said into the stillness. “I think you’re right.”

* * *

“Please, just take the cot.” Gold said for the hundredth time.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Belle said for the hundred and first. “What will people say when they find out you froze to death in your own shop?”

“I have my coat. It’s not that cold.”

“I can hear your teeth chattering.”

She could do no such thing. Gold sighed, feeling weary. They’d been arguing for the last twenty minutes at least.

It hadn’t taken long for the cold to creep in after the power went out. Bundled up in their coats, they’d used the rest of the hot water for a last bit of tea, and neither one complained about their dinner being the rest of the biscuits.

When the question of sleeping arrangements arose, Gold thought it was obvious: Belle could take the bed and the nice blankets, and he would watch over her, stalwart and uncomplaining.

The stubborn woman was hearing none of it.

“I can survive a night in the chair as long as I know you’re taken care of.”

“That’s sweet,” she said with a glare, “but not very practical.”

Practicality had nothing to do with it. The candles flickered on the table. He kept a handful in his cupboards for this very situation, and it helped Belle to save her cell phone battery if they should need it when the service came back on.

He stared at the flames. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I’d be much more comfortable if I were warmer,” she shot back. She had at least made it as far as sitting on the cot, boots kicked off and feet tucked underneath her. “We’re small people. We can both fit.”

They couldn’t, not unless she were wrapped around him like a scarf. It sounded like a dream to Gold, but he wouldn’t fool himself into thinking it was what she actually wanted.

“You’ll sleep easier if it's just you on it.”

“If you refuse to share with me, then I’ll stay at the table with you.” She patted the quilt underneath her. “We can share the blankets. Wear them like cloaks.”

“No.”

“Really, Mr. Gold.” A pout had begun to pull at her lips. It was cute enough to kiss away, which was exactly why he’d stay where he was, thank you. “Think of my toes.”

“Your. . . toes.”

“Yes. They’re so cold right now, I think they might actually fall off. And you’re sitting there, miles away, doing nothing about it, when you could get on the bed with me, and keep me and my toes warm.”

“It might help if you got under the blankets, first.”

“And if they fall off,” she said, ignoring him, “I will sue you for damages.”

That shocked a laugh out of him. “Sue me?”

“What would the town say then, hm? Mr. Gold being taken to court because Belle French can’t wear heels anymore.”

That would be a tragedy all on it’s own. “You seem under the impression I give a damn what the town thinks of me.”

“What about what I think? I’d be very upset with you.”

“Unthinkable,” he murmured. The pout was back, her lip protruding. Gold’s resolve was slipping. It was bloody cold in the shop. His hands felt like ice, he couldn’t feel his feet at all. It would be warmer on the bed with two, he knew that much.

“Please share the bed with me?” Belle asked, going in for the kill. Her eyes shone in the candlelight. “I know I’m asking for a lot, but there’s no sense in either of us being cold tonight.”

Endless moments passed. How did she get her eyes to shine so brightly?

“Alright,” Gold said.

If he thought she was shining before, it paled in comparison to the smile that lit up her face.

She stood when he did, pulling back the blankets. She shimmied out of her coat, too, laying it over.

“We’ll be warmer if we use the coats as extra blankets,” she said innocently, reaching up to help him out of his. “Keeping them on will suck away body heat, not hold it in.”

While she spread his coat over hers, he removed his suit jacket, laying it over the back of the chair. If they needed it, it was within reach. His belt and shoes soon followed.

When he looked at the cot next, he was greeted with Belle, tucked in and holding one corner of the coverings up, ready for him to slip in next to her.

He could deny her nothing.

After blowing out the candles, he settled in.

The weight of the blankets was pleasant, especially with the added coats. It couldn’t compare to the weight of Belle, solid and warm.

Gold shifted to his back, Belle happily curling around him, her head pillowed on his shoulder. His arm came around to rest in the hollow of her back.

“Is this okay?” she asked, rubbing her face against him.

Tentatively, Gold ran his hands up her spine. She sighed, snuggled closer.

“It’s perfect,” he decided. Gold didn’t know why he had resisted for so long.

Belle sighed again, deeper, sinking further into his arms. Her leg hooked around his, twining together, her thigh brushing his groin.

Ah, right. That was why.

Maybe he could convince her to go back-to-back. Or he could turn to his side, let her be the big spoon. Now that was an excellent idea.

Her hand, delicate and soft, touched lightly on his shoulder. “Is this still okay?” she asked.

It was agonizing torture. “Yes.”

A pause. “It’s just, you’ve gone rigid.”

He huffed, willing his body to relax.

“It’s fine,” he said.

They lay together in the dark, simply breathing each other in. The clock on his workbench dutifully whirred on, and the soft but distinct _tickticktick_ pulled him into a sort of trance.

Belle began to rub circles into the fabric of his shirt and he felt himself sink further. He could smell her floral shampoo. He nuzzled her, gently, hoping she wouldn’t mind.

“Gold?” Belle asked, breath blooming against his neck.

“Hm?” he hummed. His eyes were closed. He didn’t remember doing that.

“What would you say if I told you that skin-to-skin contact is much more efficient to staying warm?”

Her limbs tightened around him as if she was sure he’d leap from the bed and away from her. He didn’t want to do that, though, even as what she was asking sunk in.

Gold swallowed, afraid of being too honest in the dark. “I suppose I would accuse you of trying to seduce me.”

He felt her relieved sigh. “Would it work?”

“You’re doing a great job of it as it is.”

Her breath staggered. Her hands played with the buttons on his shirt, but didn’t slip them through their eye holes.

“And do you want to be seduced?” Her nose mapped a trail from behind his ear along his jaw, and he was about to combust.

His answer was to grasp her hair at the base of her neck and pull her towards him. He overshot, his aim terrible in the dark. Her lips landed on the edge of his top lip, brushing the curse of his nose.

Still holding her close, he flipped them, so he was above her. He cradled her head, his hands combing through her lush hair. Oh, yes, much easier to kiss her like this. Belle agreed if her happy moan was anything to go by; that and the way her legs parted, allowing him to rest against her fully.

“I’ll keep you warm,” he whispered into her ear, reveling in her shiver.

“I want you, Gold.” The words had barely left her mouth before he was kissing her again.

“Silas,” he said. “My name is Silas.” Belle ran her hands up his arms, her fingers sinking into his hair.

“Silas,” she breathed. “I want you so much.”

He kissed her, hard, tongue demanding entrance that Belle happily granted.

If the night was spent only kissing and maybe heavy petting, it would have exceeded Gold’s expectations by a considerable degree. Belle clearly had other plans, though, as he found out when her hands touched his bare chest.

He jolted, her cool hands searing as they touched him. The minx was adept at unbuttoning a shirt, he’d give her that. She was also proving quite skilled at undoing his trousers; they pushed them down his thighs together, Gold leaning a little to the side so he could get the leverage to kick them to the end of the cot.

Now that he was bare, it seemed only fair that Belle be next. Gold grasped the end of her sweater, pushing it up, up, up. When he threw it down to the floor, she hissed at the cold air as it made its way into their cocoon. It was worth it for the wide expanse of warm skin he now had to discover. Fuck, she was soft.

Gold’s hands clutched at her sides as he mouthed her breasts, the nipples already tight buds.

“Silas,” she moaned, thrusting her chest up. While his mouth was occupied, he peeled her leggings down as far as he could reach without outright sitting up. She took the hint, kicking them to the end of the bed to join his trousers.

Gold adjusted the blankets, making sure they were covered, and that Belle was warm underneath him. She panted, breath heavy as he kissed across her collar bone. He trailed down to the top of her chest, mouthing at the hollow at the swell of her breasts while his hand trailed to her cunt.

Her core was molten.

“Fuck,” Gold hissed, feeling the wet heat of her.

“Please, Silas” Belle said, bucking her hips into his hand. “Fuck me.”

Cock in hand, he guided himself into her. If he thought she was hot on his fingers, it didn’t come close to her wrapped around his prick.

“Oh, Belle,” he moaned, lost.

They set a slow hard rhythm; not wanting to displace the blankets, Belle angled her hips up, cradling Gold while he rocked in and out.

Pulse by pulse, breath by breath, he had never felt so good. Belle raised her knees higher, allowing more of him to sink inside her. Her breath hitched when he hit a good spot. He hit it again, harder.

Silas kissed her along her neck, wet sucking kisses that landed in time with his hips. He wished he could see her, wanted to memorize the look on her face and he gave this to her. The dark brought into focus the sure touch of their wandering hands, the vice of her cunt as she took him.

“Are you close, love?” he asked, gaining speed, his thrusts becoming shallow. His hand sunk down to just above where they joined, rubbing her clit as she moaned in his ear.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she said, words breathy. She kissed his jaw, hands weaving into his hair, pulling as she clenched—as she came—as her legs wrapped around him beseeching him to follow her.

He could deny her nothing.

* * *

She woke in the night, the room dark and cold. Silas was a furnace next to her, his arm stretched across her ribcage keeping her anchored. She smiled, wiggling against him, relishing being so close to him.

Silas’ heart was steady and strong beneath her ear. Sweet music. Belle turned her head to kiss him there, over his heart. She trailed her nose down, to the side, finding his nipple. She kissed that, too. Then closed her mouth over it, sucking.

Silas grunted, but didn’t wake. A final lick, and Belle moved downwards, further into their nest.

Boney and warm; his hip, she thought. Belle kissed it, regardless.

Silas hummed, shifting slightly. Belle kissed him again, moving further down, and a little to the side, until her lips met with a wiry patch of hair.

“Belle?” he asked, voice muffled and heavy with sleep.

In answer she licked him, just over his pubris. The muscles jumped, and she felt his shudder.

“Belle,” he moaned. The sound pulled at something deep in her belly. “Please.”

“Hm?” she asked, kissing back the way she came, away from his curls.

His moan this time was agonized. “Your mouth, sweetheart. Please.”

“My mouth?” she asked, innocently, nibbling on the spot just below his tummy, sucking the skin into her mouth.

“Fuck,” he said, hips jutting.

Belle licked him. Another kiss, another suck. She breathed him deep, the whole of him. That she could make out her own scent dried on his skin had heat pooling low in her belly. They tasted so good together.

“Belle, please,” Gold tried again. “Put your mouth on my cock.”

She hadn’t expected him to ask. In reward, she stopped her teasing, using her hand to grasp and position him before taking him past her lips.

Their moans mixed together; his from the sweet heat, hers from the perfect way he filled her. What a discovery, that they fit together perfectly no matter the circumstance.

OO

Next when she woke, the lights were still off, the cold no less harsh as it nipped at her nose. She could see the morning sun peak through the single window signaling a new day and a break in the storm.

Belle tried not to grumble as she rolled over, burrowing under the blankets and pressing her cold nose into Silas’ chest.

He shook with a silent laugh, and she wondered how long he had been awake.

“Good morning,” he said, pressing a kiss to her crown. His voice was scratchy in that unused-sleepy way, and it made Belle’s toes curl.

She could get used to waking up to this. She wanted to get used to it very much.

A buzzing from the table made her pause. She turned her head, sure she knew the source.

“Your cell phone,” Silas confirmed. “It keeps going off.”

She kissed his chest, right above his heart. “You didn’t wake me.”

“You’d have answered it if I had.”

Belle made a noise of agreement, even as she made no move to leave the cot. Or more accurately, leave the circle of Silas’ arms, which were wrapped around her snugly, one hand rubbing patterns into her lower back.

“Someone will be by to dig us out, now that it’s morning,” he said.

He sounded less than pleased, which pulled a smile from her. She kissed his cheek. “Thanks for letting me stay.”

His response was immediate. “Of course.” He wet his lips. “Perhaps, ah.” His hair was tangled on the pillow, and there was a nice hickey forming on the curve of his neck, another one just under his collarbone.

He looked ravaged, ruined; very thoroughly and happily debauched.

“Perhaps?” Belle hooked her leg around his thigh, her heel touching the back of his knee. She felt his cock stir in interest.

“Perhaps, I mean, if you wanted to…”

Belle bit her lip. They were naked, still wrapped around each other after a night of the best sex she had ever had, and he was too shy to ask her out on a date.

It really put her stargazing into perspective. They’d work on it, she decided. They had the time.

“I’d like to do this again,” she told him, catching his eye. “In less pressing circumstances."

He rubbed the tip of his nose against hers, voice sweet and hopeful. “Let me make you dinner.”

Belle had only just pressed her lips to his when her phone gave a particularly judgmental vibration. She left the blankets long enough to snatch it from the table, before she tucked herself back next to Silas, who welcomed her back happily.

She awakened the screen to see she had 7% battery left. Just enough to tell her father she was safe and warm, and that she’d be home in the afternoon after plenty of time for the snow to settle and Tillman to plow.

And a few other things she chose not to mention.


End file.
